


Snapshots and Sacrifices

by candygramme, spoonlessone (mistress_mary)



Category: Days of Our Lives, Gilmore Girls, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:58:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candygramme/pseuds/candygramme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistress_mary/pseuds/spoonlessone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when 17 year old Sam Winchester meets Eric Brady in Salem, Massachusetts? And how does Dean respond to his little brother taking up with his doppelganger? Those were questions we asked ourselves, and this is the story that resulted. Sam takes up photography and seems to have the knack for it, although Dean feels he's way too interested in cutlery, while Dean is finding out that he can diagnose engine trouble in high end cars. They seem set for a peaceful summer until the need for a spot of breaking and entering becomes necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots and Sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

> We were feeling pretty disheartened when our story languished until almost the very last. When we were picked up by our artist, we realized that she was an amazing talent, who did so many lovely pieces for us, despite having tons of other commitments. Thank you to [](http://amber1960.livejournal.com/profile)[**amber1960**](http://amber1960.livejournal.com/) for being awesome.
> 
> Our eternal thanks to [](http://laurathelurker.livejournal.com/profile)[**laurathelurker**](http://laurathelurker.livejournal.com/) for the stellar beta work. All remaining errors are our own. 
> 
> Thank you too to [](http://riyku.livejournal.com/profile)[**riyku**](http://riyku.livejournal.com/) , [](http://lavishsqualor.livejournal.com/profile)[**lavishsqualor**](http://lavishsqualor.livejournal.com/) , [](http://marciaelena.livejournal.com/profile)[**marciaelena**](http://marciaelena.livejournal.com/) , [](http://neros-violin.livejournal.com/profile)[**neros_violin**](http://neros-violin.livejournal.com/) and [](http://cordelia-gray.livejournal.com/profile)[**cordelia_gray**](http://cordelia-gray.livejournal.com/) for modding this comm for us bro-lovers and for putting this challenge together with all the hard work that entails.  
> 

  


  


  


"Salem? Really, Dad?" Sam Winchester, 17 years old and argumentative with it, climbed out of his brother's Impala and stalked forward to where his father was pulling some of their bags out of the bed of his truck. "We gonna be looking for witches? 'Cause my last history teacher said they were all exterminated way back at the end of the 15th Century. You're too late."

“What _you_ are going to do is go to school and finish out the year. I’ve arranged it already. The papers are in here.” He handed Sam a large envelope as he was speaking. John was frowning, but for once he didn’t seem inclined to bite Sam’s head off. Instead, he seemed almost cheerful. “What I’m going to do is meet Bill Harvelle and go after the recent Bigfoot sightings up in the north. It’s time someone brought one home or dispelled the rumor that they exist.”

“Oh, fine.” Dean, carrying the rest of their luggage, stomped up to where they were standing. “And what am I going to be doing amongst all of this, as if I didn’t know.”

“You, my dear Dean, are going to take care of Sammy here, make sure that he stays on the straight and narrow, and overhaul the weapons.” He raised his hand as Dean opened his mouth to protest. “Not a word! There’ll be an inspection when I get back, and if everything isn’t perfectly ready for combat, you’ll do it all over again.”

He turned back to his truck and hauled out the last item - a cooler packed with groceries - and then handed Dean a couple of keys and a credit card. “The house belongs to an old friend of mine. He’s gone down south for the summer, so you likely won’t see him. Take care of your brother, and I’ll see you later, with Bigfoot tied to the fender.”

With that, he hopped up into the truck, honked his horn once and took off, his truck receding into the warm glow of the unusually sunny March afternoon.

It would be difficult to say which of the brothers was grouchier as they began to haul their stuff up the pathway towards the small house John had managed to find for them.

“How come you let him talk to you like that?” sniped Sam as he waited for Dean to get the key into the lock. “Clean the weapons, babysit Sam, yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, Sir!”

“Shove it, Sam.” Dean pushed the door open rather forcefully, to reveal a hallway lined with books. Grumbling and muttering to himself, he stomped up the passageway. Sam slouched behind with the cooler, smirking at the reaction he’d gotten from his brother and glorying in the tense shoulders preceding him.

Dumping the cooler on the kitchen table, Sam left Dean, still muttering imprecations, and went to throw himself full length onto the ratty couch, ignoring the way that it groaned like a soul in torment, and start poking through the paperwork his Dad had given him.

“Other people’s dads support their kids in school. They don’t just expect the kid to drag themselves up,” he grumbled as he bundled the papers that laid out his academic history back into the tattered envelope and tossed it onto the floor at his feet. “It’s a good job I’m wise beyond my years, or I’d have taken to a life of crime years ago.”

“It’s not too late,” smirked Dean, who had retrieved the cooler from where Sam had dumped it on the table, and was now busily arranging its contents into the surprisingly new fridge. “We could go all Bonnie and Clyde on their asses. You’d make an awesome Bonnie.”

“Oh, fuck you, jerk!”

“What? You’ve got the hair for it, bitch.” Standing up, Dean closed the refrigerator door and turned to where Sam was still trying to find a comfortable spot on the couch. “I thought you just lived for school, anyway. What’s got your panties in a knot? Dad as good as said we’d be here until the end of the semester.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam frowned, turning over the thoughts that vied with one another for expression. “It’s just that...” He paused, chewing his lip. “Don’t you ever wish that we’d got what all the other kids have? I mean, a Dad that would come watch us when we’re playing for the school, or in a play...”

“Hey, I came to see you in that thing. Gave up a chance to score with Andrea Parker too; she never spoke to me after that.” Dean’s face betrayed the outrage of such a heinous sin. “You did what you could with the narration thing, dude, but even you couldn’t save it. What a dismal, depressing story it was.”

Sam grinned up at his brother. “Yeah, yeah. You sacrificed yourself on the altar of brotherhood for li’l ol’ me. I hear ya, but I do know that the reason Andrea cut you dead after that is because she saw you during the intermission, bundling Leah Goldstein into the janitor’s closet when you’d told her you were going to take a leak.”

There was a smirk on Dean’s face when he sauntered through to turn on the elderly cathode ray tube TV and then throw himself down on the couch beside Sam. Elbowing him from his perch in the center of the sagging seat, Dean grumbled, “Shove over, bitch. There’s more than just one of us here.”

“Take it all if you want. I’m gonna go look at the bedrooms.” Sam got to his feet, ignoring the head rush that went with his sudden movement. At age 17, Sam Winchester hadn’t quite caught up mentally with his body’s growth. He’d shot up over the past 18 months and gone from a well co-ordinated, albeit chubby boy to this new, unfamiliar, lanky version of himself. He was already as tall as Dean and still growing. His jeans were too short for him - again - and his ankles poked out, which he knew made him look like a scarecrow. Not only that but his voice still had an annoying tendency to break at entirely the wrong times, causing him to remain surly and taciturn rather than betray the embarrassing truth, which was that he was puberty’s bitch.

He prowled around the rest of the house, concluding that his dad had, for once, actually done well by them this time. Despite the lumpy couch, the rest of the house was surprisingly comfortable, and he’d tested the bed in the room he’d chosen, noting with satisfaction that, for once, the springs didn’t squeak.

Returning to where Dean was now lying full length on the couch, idly watching a cooking show, Sam kicked at the sole of his foot to attract his attention.

“Hey, can we go get me a pair of...” Dean sat up, gesticulating frantically.

“Shush. The Galloping Gourmet is gonna show me how to make whisky chicken. I bet it’s awesome, and if I can follow the steps we can make it for dinner.”

“Yeah, but I need a new pair of jeans. I’m gonna be laughed out of the new school in these.” Sam was almost whining, and he could hear his voice crack as his emotion rose with his plea.

That made Dean pause and take a long look at his brother, during which time Sam felt uncomfortably like a bug under a microscope. Finally, Dean nodded and reached for the car keys where he’d tossed them onto the coffee table. “Okay, princess. Can’t have you going to the ball in rags, can we?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply angrily, but then smirked. “Does that make you my fairy godmother?” he asked, then nodded to himself. “Yep. Definitely a fairy.”

“Hey, you want a pair of pants that fit you, don’t diss the guy with the credit card,” was Dean’s retort as he turned to lead the way out of the house and back to the car. “I guess we can go find you something pretty to wear.” He pushed the door closed as Sam came through. “Maybe a paper bag for your head too.”

“Oh, shut up, you jerk!” Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs, but he was grinning, Dean didn’t respond, so Sam counted that a win as they made their way to the car.

  
  


School was predictable. Sam had changed schools so many times by now that he could write the script for all future transferees from school to school. There was the mildly patronizing secretary, who called him ‘dear’ and took him to the principal, who was quite frankly less than interested in a lanky 17 year old, and who was somewhat testy as he began to read through Sam’s transcripts.

Those at least seemed to find favor with him, and he unbent enough to make a little small talk with Sam about his career aims before sending for another kid to take him to his class. More awkward small talk followed, and then the inevitable greeting from the teacher who was taking roll, followed by the equally awkward introduction to the rest of the class, most of whom appeared to be either sleeping or texting to each other as he talked, giving them a fictitious guide to the Sam Winchester he wished he could actually be.

His first day progressed much as other first days had in his many moves. He got his schedule and his locker, his textbooks and, of course, his first day’s homework. He met the kids he’d be with and assessed them, moving among them quietly, concentrating on not appearing to be a klutz. He was taller than almost all of the others in his class, and the one guy who approached his height was way too busy playing some game on his phone to pay him any attention. _All in all_ , Sam thought, as he wandered back towards their house, _it could have been a lot worse_. He’d made a couple of friends, and it felt like settling in wasn’t going to be too much of a challenge.

Arriving back at the house, he found a note from his brother that told him he’d picked up a job at the local garage and to help himself to whatever he needed. Grabbing a can of soda and an apple, he settled down in blissful silence to get his homework done.

Dean burst in a little after 6pm to fill the air with inconsequential chatter. He’d met a girl. _Of course he’d met a girl_ , thought Sam. _Put Dean in the middle of a totally empty desert and give him ten minutes to acclimatize, and he’d be hooking up with some girl_. Just the thought of it made Sam tired.

“...So I was gassing baby up, and the guy behind the counter came out to ask about her. We got talking about V8 engines, and he invited me in to come see the car he’d got on the hoist. Dude, you should’ve seen her. She’s a T-bird in absolutely cherry condition. Can’t hold a candle to my baby of course, but even so...” He was still talking, but Sam had zoned out, watching his brother as he paced restlessly and gesticulated to emphasize his words.

Sam had lately been having certain thoughts about Dean that, if his brother ever found out about them, he was sure Dean would be disgusted. He’d probably want to exorcise him or something, but he couldn’t stop the way he shivered when Dean would purse his lips, or the way that he found himself sporting an erection whenever he watched the arrogant strut Dean had affected to tell the world that he was a force to be reckoned with. Dean was hot, and knew it. Sam, on the other hand, was just Sam: a skinny kid who’d recently outgrown both his strength and his coordination, and who was just as likely to fall over his own feet as he was to saunter sexily. He felt like the ugly duckling to Dean’s swan. He sighed. Why did this shit have to happen to him? He didn’t need to be a teenager with a crush on his aggressively heterosexual big brother.

“So, Samuella, how did _your_ day go?” Dean asked at length, having related everything that had happened to him that day.

“It was okay, I guess.” Sam shrugged. “Same old, same old. I signed up for an elective though.” He gave Dean a little smile. “Thought I’d try photography, so I put my name down for the class. Looked like fun, and I thought it might come in handy sometime.”

“Photography, huh?” Dean frowned as he pondered that. “Hey, could be useful for the journal. I can’t draw worth a damn, and neither can dad. We could actually put photos into the journal instead of crappy drawings if you get good at it.”

Privately, Sam thought that the likelihood of him whipping out a camera in the middle of a werewolf attack was a little slim, but he nodded anyway. He was dependent on Dean to get the equipment he would need, and the last thing he needed to do was to alienate his funding source. Besides, this was his big brother, and Sam would do pretty much anything it took to win Dean’s approval.

  
  


“Honestly, Eric, you should come and take a look. You’ll be really impressed.” Eric Brady frowned into his empty coffee cup. He wasn’t sure he was up to the kind of thing that his current companion was requesting of him. “It wouldn’t hurt you just to swing by and look, now would it?”

Martin Devereaux had been Eric’s teacher before he graduated high school, and he was partly responsible for Eric’s love of photography. He had been the one that had introduced him to the subject, and it was because Martin had encouraged and nurtured his talent that Eric was the successful photographer he’d become. It was just the thought of interacting with a class full of students that was giving Eric pause.

Sighing, he finally raised his eyes from the dregs of his coffee and gave Martin a somewhat rueful smile. “You aren’t going to let me say no, are you? What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Just come and give my kids a short talk on the options open to them if they take up photography as a profession, check out their work and see what pointers you can give them.” Martin smiled back, brown eyes twinkling as he talked. “I’m not even going to point out the one I’d like you to mentor, because unless I’m completely losing my touch, you’ll pick him out just by looking at the stuff he’s produced so far. I haven’t seen anyone as talented since you were in my class.”

“Oh, hell...” Eric rubbed the back of his neck, already nervous at the prospect of addressing a bunch of teens. “I’m not exactly a Pulitzer Prize winner.”

“You will be, Eric. I’m sure of that.” Martin rose to his feet. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah.” Eric sighed and nodded. “You got me. When do you want to me to come and do this consciousness raising exercise?”

“Strike while the iron is hot, young man!” Martin clapped Eric on the shoulder. “We’re in the lab at three tomorrow. Think you could make it?”

“Three tomorrow? Sure.” Eric looked up at the man who had been his mentor and shrugged. “Get it over with fast, like ripping off the band-aid, right? Okay, I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Eric.” As Martin turned to go, Eric watched him stride away and brooded about what exactly he would need to say when he turned up the following day.

  
  


Sam loved school. He was tall and although not what you’d call particularly well coordinated, at least not at the moment, he’d still been asked to try out for the basketball team. He didn’t aspire to being a jock, but he had no objection to team sports, and rather liked excelling at them. He was sure that if he didn’t trip himself up and brain himself on the asphalt first, he would recover enough coordination to shine someday. However, the thing that was most exciting to him at the present was the opportunity to get into the photography lab and learn more about his current obsession. He’d already turned in a couple of photos for the school paper, and while he didn’t dream of becoming a professional, he had an idea that he would write a book - a monster bible - and illustrate it with the actual photos of each creature he recorded. On his way to photography, which was the last class of the day, he was mentally planning how he would spend the session, excited to get into the dark room and make some prints of the shots he’d taken the evening before.

As he drifted into the lab he was in his own little world and it was with a huge start that he noticed a familiar face. Apparently Dean was sitting in the classroom chatting away to Mr. Devereaux.

Dean didn’t seem to notice him and paid him no attention whatsoever as he went to take his seat, and Sam was uneasy as he waited for Mr. Devereaux to call him up and tell him that there was some reason why he could no longer take the class. When no summons was forthcoming Sam felt even more off balance as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

As the last couple of kids shuffled into the lab and closed the door, Mr. Devereaux rose to his feet and introduced Dean to the class - except he didn’t call him Dean, he called him Eric, and that made Sam gasp. This Eric dude was the spitting image of his brother, and he wondered if he was a shapeshifter, because as far as Sam knew that kind of look-alike just didn’t occur in nature.

Still, Mr. Devereaux was talking about this Eric like he’d known him forever, and when he told the group that Eric had been in his class some seven years earlier Sam started to believe at last that his resemblance to Dean was just a weird coincidence. He could do weird; he and Dean had done weird all of his life, so that was not going to be a problem. Sam settled down to hear what this Dean clone had to say. Perhaps he actually was a clone, or maybe Dad had taken up with a girlfriend, back before Dean was born, and this Eric was another brother. Dad wasn’t around to ask right now, but it was something to store up for whenever he came back to get them. That thought made him smile.

It was evident that this Eric was nervous, and he soon proved himself to be nothing like Dean as he stumbled through his speech about careers in photography and the way he’d managed to make a profession of it. Dean would’ve been confident and cocky, he knew. Eric was diffident and looked as if he’d rather be chewing ground glass while he was talking. It was only when he began to answer questions from the class that he began to warm up and reveal a personality, and Sam could actually see that he knew his subject. That suddenly became incredibly sexy to Sam.

When Eric began to come around the class to look at their portfolios, Sam suddenly felt really shy. He’d started by feeling that this was a poor copy of his brother, but now he found himself really desperate for approval. Eric was spending time at each student portfolio, complimenting and admiring, giving advice on lighting and exposures and talking about lenses. Sam started to think the man would never reach him.

By the time Eric reached Sam and began to peruse the folder that contained his recent photographs, Sam was trembling. It was suddenly important that this man - the dead ringer for his brother - think well of him. Sam pushed his folder over wordlessly, biting his lip as he waited for any comments the man had. Eric didn’t say a word for the longest time. Finally, he settled on a single photo. As luck would have it, it was a picture of his brother after they had been washing the Impala, and a water fight had ensued. Dean was drenched and in the act of peeling his sodden T-shirt over his head, the supple, finely muscled body arched and his wet jeans riding low on his hips. The photo was black and white, and Sam had to admit that he was pleased with the way it had come out. The sun had illuminated the droplets of water that covered Dean’s body, producing an effect that looked almost as if Dean were made from marble, and turned him into a living statue.

“What did you use to get that effect?” Eric sounded genuinely fascinated, and Sam groped mentally for something to tell him other than, ‘It just happened.’ Alas, there was nothing.

“Uh, it just happened.” Sam’s voice was a little croaky as he responded to Eric. “That’s my brother. We were just messing with water, and it seemed like good blackmail material.”

Eric began to backtrack, studying photos of a spider in its web, a small bird fluffing out its feathers and a shot he’d taken of a window cleaner way up on the side of a tall building, leaning out to reach a particular spot outside the cradle in which he was balanced. He was still silent, and then asked Sam what kind of camera he was using. Sam brought out the old Pentax he’d found at a yard sale and offered it to Eric, whose eyebrows raised as he took it from him.

“What lenses do you use?” he asked Sam, and Sam, intimidated now, just shook his head wordlessly.

“The one on the camera?” he said, when the silence became too much for him.

“Have you thought of taking up photography as a profession?” Eric finally asked, and Sam’s eyes opened wide.

“Uh, no, not really. I’m still at school...uh, obviously.” Sam frowned, unsure of where Eric was going with his inquiry. “I won’t graduate for another year.”

“Well, yeah.” Eric gave him a smile. “What I really meant is that... Listen, you’ve got a lot of talent, and I’d love to teach you some of the stuff you can do with filters and really up to the minute equipment.” He gestured at Sam’s camera. “What you’ve managed to achieve with that is nothing short of amazing. I want to see you grow, so what I propose is that you come work for me this summer, and you can learn on the job. What do you say?”

Sam’s eyes were sparkling at the thought, although he didn’t immediately say yes. “I guess I’ll check with... uh, at home,” he murmured. “But I’d love to, if Dean says I can.”

  
  


Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to Sam’s school activities. He knew Sam loved school, and trusted him to behave. The first couple of weeks had passed by without event. Sam was happily studying, and when he’d begun photography classes, he had produced an elderly camera from somewhere in his duffel, one that he told Dean that he’d bought at a yard sale several years previously.

Dean watched him, first with mild irritation when Sam kept snapping him as he went about his day, and then, as time progressed, with interest, because it seemed that little Sammy, his geek brother, was actually good at this photography thing.

His first assignment earned him an A, and as the spring began to show itself, painting the world first in pastels, and then in brighter colors, Sam turned his attention away from capturing Dean’s every move, toward arty shots of new buds, fresh shoots and new blossom. Dean felt slightly bereft as his brother stopped jumping out at him whenever he did anything even the tiniest bit interesting - if you could call washing the Impala interesting!

With the approach of summer, Sam had begun to stay late at school every night to use the school equipment, and his whole conversation was about exposure lengths and lighting and fuck knew what else. He took to editing out Sam’s conversation and merely making sounds of approval whenever Sam drew breath. That wasn’t often, because Sammy could talk the ears off of an elephant - an African one at that.

Dean had a job now, working at Max’s Garage, doing tune-ups and simple repairs. He’d landed the job on the strength of his work on the Impala, and he’d made allowances for the weird looks given to him by the guy who managed the place. Several times during the weeks he’d worked there he’d caught Max giving him odd looks, and it often seemed as if he’d been about to say something, but the phone would ring or someone would come in with a job, and it always diverted him, allowing Dean to get back on with the job of changing the oil filters on the suburban or the Toyota he had up on the lift. Sam would be turning 18 in just a week, too, and somehow Dean was going to have to get him a birthday cake. He wondered if he could get the girl in the bakery to make one for him for free.

So when Sammy burst into their kitchen, eyes gleaming with excitement, Dean prepared to assume what he thought of as his listening face and began reflecting on whether he’d somehow get to take the awesome little bug-eyed Sprite that he was currently working on out for a spin.

“Dean...” Sam had abandoned his normal teenaged sullen look and was grinning from ear to ear, dimples deep and white teeth sparkling. “Dean, guess what?”

“What, Sammy?” That seemed safe enough. Sammy would talk again and Dean could daydream happily.

“Dean, they did the display today, and some of my photos have been picked for a gallery showing, and the photographer guy came to talk to us in class today, and I got a practicum for the summer working with him at his shop, and he’s going to pay me and show me how to use really good equipment, and, Dean, he looks exactly like you.” Sam finally seemed to run out of breath and waited for Dean to say something.

After a rather long moment, Dean, realizing that Sam had stopped talking, looked up from the potatoes he was peeling. “Good, Sammy. I always knew you had it...”

“You weren’t listening to a word I was saying, were you?” Sammy’s more habitual stormy bitch face had made a reappearance. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“Dude, I’m always proud of you.” Dean flushed. “Sorry. Just, my boss let me get my hands on a really neat little restored Sprite today, and I was plotting how to get them to let me take her out for a test drive.”

“My photos are going to be in a gallery show, Dean.” Sam cut across anything further Dean might have said. “And I’ve got a summer job.”

At that, Dean’s ears pricked up. “What kind of a job, Sammy?” Sam let loose a put upon sigh. “I already told you. I’m the best in the class and the local studio is going to let me work there for the summer and work with the guy who looks like you...”

“Whoa! Start at the beginning.” Dean was beginning to regret his failure to listen to his brother. “There’s a guy who looks like me? What guy?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you, Dean.” Sam was at his most supercilious and patronizing. “The photographer from the studio. His name is Eric, and he looks exactly like you.”

“He must be a handsome son of a bitch then,” smirked Dean, hiding his concern about another man who looked _exactly_ like him as he tossed the potatoes he’d peeled into the sink and reached to run the water over them. “You want chicken tonight?”

“He’s gonna show me lighting and stuff, and I’ll get paid.” Sam ignored Dean’s jibe in favor of sharing the exciting news that he’d been bursting with. “Yeah, chicken’s good and you’re ugly.”

“Paid?” Dean perked up a little at that. “Some dude that looks like me is gonna pay you to sit around taking photographs all summer? Are you suffering from some concussion I don’t know about? Did you hit your head on the way home from school?”

“Don’t believe me!” Sam flounced out of the kitchen, returning a moment later with an envelope, which he extended to his brother. “See, there! Proof.”

Dean lost no time in tearing the envelope open, while giving Sam more of his strange looks. Swiftly perusing the contents, he lowered his hands and gave his brother a nod. “Well, okay, Sammy! Seems that this Brady dude is on the level. Welcome to the world of work for pay. You do realize that you’ll be prostituting your muse, don’t you? I expect you’ll spend all day photographing smelly babies and trying to make them look pretty.”

“Hah! You’re jealous!” Sam licked his finger and made a checkmark in the air as he sauntered out of the kitchen. “Gonna go do my homework.”

Dean shook his head as he watched Sam go, then turned back to his potatoes. Photography or not, they still had to eat.

  
  


The school year ended at last, and Eric, who had just returned from escorting Greta to France to finally lay her mother to rest, came back to find Nicole in a really bad mood, and a whole stack of commissions to fill.

“Did you have a lovely time with Miss Perfect, Eric?” Nicole’s words were sugary sweet, but her eyes were snapping with venom as she fixed him with her most withering stare. “Do you think you might actually stick around and do a little work for me now?”

“Oh, come on, Nicole.” Eric heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The girl’s mother died. She really needed someone to be there for her. Besides, she’s my friend.”

“Oh, I know how much you’d like to be there for her,” sniped Nicole, and Eric cleared his throat, exasperated.

“Look, what I do with Greta is none of your business. You’re married, and we’re not together any more. Can we just get on with work, please?” Eric turned to start looking through the orders, just as Sam, who had been hovering in place just outside, tapped on the door and poked his head into the studio.

“Who are you?” snapped Nicole,

“I’m looking for Mr. Brady,” said Sam, flushing to a deep red at her attitude.

“Oh, certainly.” She smirked. “Oh, Mister Brady?” she called in a sing-song voice. “There’s a young man to see you.”

With that she sailed out of the studio, leaving both Sam and Eric with their mouths open in astonishment.

“Uh... I came about the job...”

“I’m so sorry, she’s in one of her moods.”

They both started speaking together, and stopped at the same instant, and Eric gave a nervous little chuckle as his hand went to the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I came to see you now that school’s out.” Eric had forgotten, and it seemed as if Sam could tell. “You said I should work here, and you’d show me... never mind. I can see that now isn’t a good time. I’ll go.”

“No!” Eric suddenly remembering the day in the high school. “You’re the kid with the photo of the spider, right?”

“Yeah. I called a couple of times but you weren’t around, so I figured I should just come and find you.” It was obvious to Eric that Sam’s confidence had taken a blow due to Eric’s forgetfulness, and he gritted his teeth and reached out his hand, offering it to the young man.

“God, I’m sorry. I had to go away for a few days on... on business. Please, come on in. I could certainly use an assistant right now.” He indicated the stack of order forms. “Need to get this lot taken care of first. Book appointments and that kind of thing.”

“What about the lady that just went out?” Sam frowned. “Is she gonna be mad?”

“Don’t worry about her.” Eric made a face. “She’s always mad these days. She gets like that when she can’t have her own way.” He thought for a minute and then pushed the box containing the stack of mail and bits of paper over to him. “Here. You can start by sorting these out into different kinds. If it’s to book an appointment, pass it over to me. If it’s a bill or a check, put it into the trays on the desk. Bills go on the right, checks go on the left. If it’s an order for prints, keep it with you. We’ll get those done this afternoon, okay?”

“You got it.” Sam beamed his wide, dimpled smile at Eric and pulled the pile of papers closer to him as he settled down to begin his first day’s work.

  
  


It was way past noon by the time they’d finished sorting through the paperwork. The appointment book was filled, there was a stack of mail ready to go, and a significant pile of orders for prints. By this time Sam’s stomach was rumbling, and he was starting to think that Eric would never take a breather. They had fallen into an easy conversation as they worked, with Eric explaining the layout of the studio and where the negatives were filed. He’d also told Sam a little about Nicole and their situation, certainly enough that Sam thought that Eric was being a wuss. He was about to deliver his opinion on Nicole when his stomach suddenly growled. Eric smirked.

“Let’s go get some lunch. Afterwards, we can make a start on the prints.”

For Sam, the morning had flown by. Eric was a patient teacher and Sam loved getting his hands on high end equipment. He knew the basics, but there were so many things one could do once a photograph was on the awesome setup that Eric had in the studio. He fell upon the photo editing software with sheer joy and pretty soon he was applying filters to his own photos that made him determined to get himself a copy.

Lunch was in a small diner where everyone seemed to know Eric, and the staff greeted Sam like a long lost son once Eric had introduced him. The meal had been a wonderful change from Dean’s cooking. Dean could cook, there was no doubt, but he didn’t have much of a varied table d’hote, and his servings never contained salad. Sam had the most delicious tuna salad and relished it all the more for knowing that Dean would loathe it.

They were just deciding if they wanted dessert when a dark haired man with a pinched expression stopped by their table.

“Brady, Nicole is giving me some garbled complaint about you using work time to show off. Don’t you think that just taking off to France on some wild goose chase is enough, do you...”

Eric cut him off in mid diatribe. “Lucas, I’d like you to meet Sam Winchester, the summer intern. You really ought to come see the kind of stuff he’s been doing with an ancient camera. He’s incredibly talented, and you know we could use the help.” He gave Lucas a smile and gestured at Sam, who had been sitting open mouthed as he listened to their conversation. “Sam, this is Lucas Roberts. He’s an executive at Titan Publishing, and my boss.”

“Intern?” Lucas’s face underwent a change of expression. “Ah, well, that’s different.” He turned to Sam and held out his hand. “Glad to have you. I hope you’re gonna keep this guy in order.”

“I...” Sam wasn’t sure that he liked this Lucas, but he politely shook the man’s hand and nodded. “I’ll do my best,” he said at length.

The rest of the afternoon went by even faster than the morning had. Sam was fascinated by the dark room with its enlargers and developing trays, so different from the way things were done at school with their rudimentary equipment. Not only that, but his surreptitious studying of Eric fascinated him as he began to catalogue the differences from his brother. There were also similarities, and Sam, intrigued, seized on those with an almost religious fervor. Eric scratched the back of his neck when he was nervous or unsure, and so did Dean. Eric had a similar lopsided smirk when he was joking, and he licked his lips when he was thinking hard.

  
  


Sam had apparently piqued Dean’s curiosity, so he was actively listening to Sam’s excited rambling about his first day at the office. He had lots of questions about Eric and the job and the other people Sam had interacted with. He was much less interested in the cool equipment Sam was getting to work with, but that was par for the course. It was halfway through dinner when Sam realized that maybe he had been going on about Eric a bit too much, because Dean suddenly announced that he would like to meet him and did Sam think he’d be in his studio around one the next afternoon.

“Umm …” Sam stammered. “I guess. I mean, probably, yes. Why do you want to meet him?”

“Just looking out for you, Sammy,” Dean answered. “I’ve got to meet the man who is making you gush like this.”

“I’m not …” Sam was sure his face was bright red. His brother could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. “I wasn’t _gushing_. I’m just excited to have a job and to get to work with real equipment for a change.”

“So, an EMF meter isn’t real equipment? What about my 9 mil? Those aren’t good enough?”

“Of course we have all the nice toys for _hunting_. I was just talking about the cameras and the developing equipment and stuff.”

The mocking glint disappeared from Dean’s eyes and his expression softened. “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a better camera. But I’ve only got so much budget, and the job at the shop helps, but there’s still only just enough. Maybe you should keep your money from the internship to buy a better one. Although I’m already dreading what Dad will think about what I already spent on the camera I gave you for your birthday.”

“It’s not about that, Dean.” Sam huffed, not entirely mollified by the change in Dean’s attitude. “It’s just I’m learning so much, and it’s all so fascinating, and Eric has all this experience… Besides, I couldn’t buy a decent camera for what I’ll make this summer, and Dad’s already going to be pissed enough about me spending the whole summer on photography. It will only be worse if I don’t contribute my paycheck.”

“Still, I think I should come around and meet this guy.” Dean said before collecting the dishes and heading toward the sink. “We should think about laundry this weekend. I’ve worn all of my socks twice, and my jeans could stand up by themselves with all the grease from the garage.”

That effectively ended the conversation, leaving Sam to worry about the meeting the next day as they cleared up from dinner and settled in to watch television. Dean meticulously sharpened their knives while Sam cleaned the guns. They were the picture of domesticity in the Winchester household.

  
  


Dean Winchester was not what Eric was expecting. He knew from Sam that Dean was a couple of years younger than Eric himself and that they looked a lot like each other. Wasn’t that an understatement? Aside from the clothes (clean and neat, but obviously worn denims and a t-shirt), hair, a few scars, and a certain swagger Eric certainly never had, they could be clones. Eric had heard the adage that everyone had another person out there that looked exactly like them, but he’d never believed it. Now he was doubting himself. But right now his doppelganger was extending a hand and introducing himself. Eric mentally shrugged off his shock and returned the handshake.

“Dean Winchester,” the man who was obviously Sam’s brother said. “And you must be Eric Brady. Sammy’s been telling me so much about you.”

“Yes, I’m Eric,” Eric replied. “I’ve heard a lot about you too. You’re just about all he talks about besides photography.” Eric heard Dean mutter something under his breath that sounded like ‘krees toe’, which obviously made no sense. But Dean was peering far more intently into his eyes than was normal. Maybe it was just Dean’s shock at just how much they did look like one another.

  
  


“I just thought I should meet the man responsible for the internship Sam is so excited about.” Dean said, and Eric decided he must have been imagining things. Until Dean pulled a flask out of his pocket and sloshed some of the clear liquid right in his face! When Eric instinctively wiped his face the fluid appeared to be plain water. What in the world was going on here?

“I’m so sorry,” Dean continued, still peering closely into his eyes. “How clumsy of me. I just wanted to take some aspirin. Long morning at the garage.”

“Oh,” Eric answered stupidly, shaking his head to try to make sense of this odd encounter. “I think I have some aspirin in my desk. Let me get you some.”

“No need, I have some in my pocket here.” Dean reached into his pocket and at just that moment Sam burst through the door with the proofs Eric had sent him to fetch from the layout editor.

“Dean, no!” Sam shouted and lunged for his brother just as Eric felt a sharp sting on his forearm. He glanced down and saw that he was bleeding from a shallow cut. “I told you, he’s not…” Sam glared at his brother and then turned towards Eric, standing between them, apparently to prevent any further contact. “I’m so sorry about Dean, he’s just … over-protective.”

“That’s all right, it’s barely a scratch,” Eric found himself saying while thinking that this was the strangest encounter he’d ever had, and that was saying something after his trip to France with the bomb, the plane crash and everything that had happened on the island. He turned back to Dean, falling back on the manners his grandparents had instilled in him, “It was good to meet you. Did you have questions about the internship?”

“Not really questions,” Dean answered. “Just this -- if you screw with my brother, you’ll answer to me.” In that moment, Eric felt completely intimidated and vowed to do nothing that Dean might interpret as ‘screwing with’ Sam. Dean turned and walked out the door. Eric turned back to Sam who was just rolling his eyes at his brother and holding the proofs out to him. “They picked this one. I know you like the other one better, but I couldn’t talk them out of it.”

“What was that all about?” Eric automatically took the proofs from Sam and put the selected shot with the rest of the active project, filing the others away in case they changed their mind before they went to press.

“You mean Dean?” Sam asked nervously. “I’m really sorry about that. It’s just … I’ve told you about the family business?”

“Not really,” Eric answers. “Just that your dad and your brother and you are involved, and you have to travel a lot, and you don’t really talk about it, and that you hope that you can work out the full internship before your dad comes back, and you have to move again.”

“Yeah …” Sam stammered, obviously reluctant to give details. “It’s just that we don’t … they don’t … trust … anyone … ever.”

“Hey, man,” Eric reassured him. “It’s okay, I get it. Family is complicated.”

  
  


Dean was leaving the studio, musing about what to do about Eric when he literally bumped into a very pretty strawberry blonde girl in a short skirt and low-cut blouse. He whistled softly, “Well, hello, sweetheart.”

“Eric! I just heard from Troy in layout…” She stopped abruptly and looked down her nose at him. “Whatever are you wearing? I thought you were working today?”

Dean realized she’d mistaken him for his doppelganger and flashed her his best, flirty smile. “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, Sam’s brother.” He held out his hand for her to shake. “Just wanted to stop by and make sure everyone was treating him well.”

“Oh, hi there!” Her manner changed as she took in the implications of that. “I’m Nicole, principal model for _Bella_ magazine. Sam’s been a real asset so far. Eric has practically caught up from his ill-advised jaunt to France already, and he’s even moving on to new shoots. All that and Sam’s only been here for a few days,” Nicole practically simpered, and Dean mentally licked his chops. Perhaps this town might not be as boring as he’d thought. “Are you related to Eric? Because the two of you could be twins.”

“Never met him before today,” Dean answered with a grin. “But he certainly looks like me. Just not as devilishly handsome.”

“Are you new in town?” Nicole asked, with a flirty smile of her own. “I’m sure I’d remember if I’d seen you around before.”

“I’ve been working at Max’s for the past three months or so,” Dean answered. He was pretty confident that he had her snared, so he left her an opening. “You should come by sometime.”

“I might just do that,” Nicole smirked. “My car has been making this funny noise.”

“I’d be happy to look at it for you,” Dean grinned, mentally making a note to ask Sam who this Nicole person was.

“I’ll see you around, Dean Winchester,” Nicole returned, tossing a smile over her shoulder.

  
  


“What the hell were you thinking?” Sam yelled with justified indignation. “You came into the place where I work, threw holy water in my boss’s face and then cut him with a knife? What were you trying to prove?”

“I was just looking out for you, Sammy,” Dean yelled back, then continued more quietly. “Nobody looks that much like another person without our kind of thing going on.”

“I told you that I’d already determined he wasn’t anything supernatural.” Sam’s voice was also quieter, but with no less righteous indignation. “And what was with the cutting? Doing tests on his blood, blood magic, what?”

“Of course not,” Dean answered. “It was silver. Many super-”

“Silver?” Sam yelled again, then consciously lowered his voice. No need for the neighbors to hear them. John hadn’t done too badly with the house this time; it’d be a shame to get kicked out for an overheard argument. “Did you think he was a werewolf? Last time I checked, werewolves weren’t able to look exactly like another person, Dean!”

“As I was trying to say, many supernatural beings are sensitive to silver,” Dean said in his most condescending voice. “And you do admit that the resemblance is not natural, right?”

“I’ll admit it’s uncanny,” Sam allowed. “But I’ve not been able to find any reference to supernatural beings with the ability to look like other people, and he’s not done anything to make me think that’s he’s anything other than what he appears. And if he is _our kind of thing_ , then it would make sense to keep an eye on him, right? How better to do that than to work beside him every day?”

“I suppose,” Dean grudgingly agreed. “But the minute he does anything, _anything_ out of the ordinary, you call me. Understood?”

“Yes, Dean, the minute my boringly normal boss does anything strange, I will call you.” Sam neglected to mention the part where he found Eric extremely attractive and compelling. But that was just so he didn’t give Dean an even bigger head than he already had, since they did look exactly alike.

“Now, about this model, Nicole,” Dean accepted Sam’s assurance and changed the subject entirely. “What’s her story?”

“Nicole?” Sam had to think a minute to place the name. He’d only heard her name once or twice, even though she’d been a frequent visitor to the studio. “Oh, the model. She’s married to Eric’s boss, I think, but she’s always hanging around, hassling Eric. I think they used to date, and she’s still hung up on him.”

“She’s married?” Dean sounded surprised. “I didn’t see a ring, and she sure didn’t act married when I ran into her in the hallway on my way out of the building.”

“I guess she doesn’t wear the ring at work, because they don’t want it in the photographs, but I’ve seen her with it on. It’s this huge rock. Looks really expensive. Which would make sense, since Lucas is loaded.”

“Interesting,” Dean hmmed. “She’s supposed to bring her car by the shop. If she does, maybe I’ll see how ready to follow through on her flirting she is.”

“Dean, don’t!” Sam objected. “She’s married! And I don’t think Lucas is the kind of guy to mess around with.”

“Relax, Sammy,” Dean reassured him. “I have no intention of doing anything beyond harmless flirting. I’m just curious to see what she’s after. I mean, you said she’s been hassling Eric, and if I can divert her attention, that would be a good thing, right?”

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam thought it sounded like a good way for Dean to get into trouble, but what did he know? And he sure wasn’t going to be able to stop his brother once he got the idea into his head. “Maybe, but please, be careful!”

  
  


The next day, Sam kept trying to surreptitiously see the scratch on Eric’s forearm. Not that he knew what he was looking for, but surely if he was reacting to the silver, it would’ve either been obvious to Dean in the moment, or the wound would be showing signs of irritation. After several failed attempts, he grew bolder and eventually Eric caught him at it.

“What is with you this morning?” Eric asked. “You’re jumpy as hell and you keep looking at me strangely.”

Sam sighed and grasped Eric’s hand, turning it palm up so he could clearly see the scratch on his forearm. He was relieved to see that only a thin red line remained. It must have been a very shallow scratch. “I just wanted to make sure Dean didn’t hurt you badly.”

“As you can see, it’s healing nicely,” Eric answered. “I still don’t understand … I mean, I get that family can sometimes do things other people don’t understand, so I don’t blame you at all, but what was Dean trying to prove? That I’m a werewolf or something?”

“No…” Sam stuttered. “Not … exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Eric asked patiently.

“Well,” Sam started, and when he saw nothing but expectant listening, no judgement or censure, he continued, words stumbling upon themselves as he rushed to get it all out. “Werewolves don’t generally have the ability to mimic other people, but lots of things are sensitive to silver.”

“Wait,” Eric responded. “Slow down. So he might have thought I might be a werewolf if werewolves could mimic other people, but since they can’t, I could possibly be something else?”

“Umm … I guess?” Sam said weekly.

“What do you think?” Eric asked. “Do you think werewolves and such things exist?”

“Yeah, um, I mean …” Sam took a breath and then continued. “I haven’t actually seen a werewolf, but my dad has. And I’ve seen lots of other things, so…” Sam shut himself up before his mouth ran too far away from him.

“Yeah, well…” Eric spoke softly, as if he didn’t want people to overhear. “My mom was possessed by the devil a few years back. I was in Colorado with my grandparents then, but my whole family saw her levitating and changing into other creatures. None of this is common knowledge though; it would ruin her reputation. You know she’s a psychiatrist?”

“Well, maybe that’s why…” Sam cut off his theorizing before it could really get started. He didn’t want to alarm or alienate Eric. Not when he was just getting to know him. There was plenty of time for those thoughts later, when there wasn’t a chance he might speak them aloud. “I mean, I guess that’s what you meant by family being complicated and why you didn’t totally freak out when Dean sliced your arm open. But seriously, are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s fine,” Eric answered. “It was closed up before the end of the day.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to think that Dean hurt you.” Just then a bell dinged and Sam ducked into the darkroom to check on the prints they had developing. Sam was glad that Eric liked to do things the old-fashioned way. It gave him a chance to learn about the history of the craft, how things had been done before everything went digital. And Eric did have a point that the feel of film photography was very different. Eric claimed it felt more authentic, even though they both knew that manipulation was relatively common in both mediums.

  
  


Dean was just getting back from his test drive of the sweet little Sprite when Nicole showed up. He’d detected a tick in the engine and tracked it down to a valve clacking, and while they’d only let him assist with the repair (his on the job training with the Impala only got him so much leeway in the shop and apparently that didn’t extend to engine repair on the rare and valuable Sprite), they did let him do the test drive. Apparently they trusted his ear after he detected the problem where the others hadn’t. When he walked back into the shop the other guys sniggered and informed him that he had a hot blonde asking for him in the office. He gave himself a mental pat on the back and went in to meet Nicole.

“Hey, Nicole,” Dean said with a cocky smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come in.”

“Yeah,” Nicole answered with her flirty little smile. “I told you, my car’s been making this noise.”

“Well, why don’t we take a look at it.” Dean had to admit to a bit of curiosity about what she would drive. He wasn’t terribly surprised to see a brand new Titanium Silver BMW 323Ci. Nice little car, but Dean was partial to domestic muscle cars, not foreign speed demons. At least it wasn’t Japanese. “Start it up and let’s see what’s going on.”

“Sure thing,” Nicole tossed another trademark smile over her shoulder as she swished her way over to the car, obviously completely sure that he was watching her ass as she walked. Of course, she was right, but he’d never admit it. She leaned in the driver’s side to start the car and then turned back to Dean. “What do you think?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Dean said. “Does it happen when it’s idling, when it shifts, at high speeds, low speeds?”

“Oh, it’s usually when I’m going really fast,” Nicole answered with a saucy grin. “Why don’t we take it for a spin and see if you hear it?”

“Sure, let me just tell my boss where I’m going.” Dean was quite sure there wasn’t anything wrong with the new car, supposedly one of the finest examples of European engineering. But Nicole was a customer and he had to check it out, right?

He told his boss, who gave him a knowing grin and waved him off. When he got back, Nicole was in the passenger seat. “Shouldn’t you be the driver? You’re the one that hears the noise, it would be much easier for you to duplicate it.” He’d really rather drive; he didn’t trust other people behind the wheel, especially women like Nicole Roberts.

“Don’t you want to drive?” Nicole asked archly. “You strike me as the kind of man who likes to be in control.”

“If that’s what you want,” Dean answered. “If there’s any hesitation in the shifting or something like that, I guess I’d be better able to tell if I’m driving.” He climbed behind the wheel and headed for the highway. Nicole had said the problem happened at speed, so he’d be more likely to find the most likely non-existent problem on the open road. He quickly accelerated to the speed limit and then gradually increased from there until he was going at 70. He glanced at Nicole and said, “I still don’t detect anything unusual. No misplaced sounds and the engine, linkage and transmission all feel perfectly in synch.”

“Try going faster,” Nicole suggested, leaning toward him in her bucket seat and putting a hand on his knee.

Dean just glanced at her briefly before accelerating again. By the time he reached 90, the car was still responding perfectly. He took his foot off of the gas until they had reached safer speeds. He wasn’t against driving fast, but he preferred to do it in his own car, and not a customer’s where he could get fired if something went wrong. “I’m sorry, Nicole. I don’t seem to be able to reproduce your problem.”

“I didn’t mean to waste your time,” Nicole smiled. “I really did hear a noise.”

“This happens a lot,” Dean answered, determined to keep this encounter completely professional, at least on his end. “People having problems with their cars that the mechanic can’t reproduce. If it happens again, try to remember exactly what you’re doing. That way, when you bring it back in, it’ll be easier to find.”

“At least let me take you to dinner,” Nicole insisted. “To make up for wasting your time.”

“I am only doing my job,” Dean countered. “Any of the guys would’ve done the same.”

“I’d like to take you to dinner all the same,” Nicole persisted. “Please?”

“If you insist,” Dean agreed, inwardly patting himself on the back for a job well done.

  
  


Sam was just putting the chicken and rice casserole in the oven when Dean got in. “Sorry I’m late, but this tune-up came in at quarter to five and I needed to finish it today.”

“It’s all right. I just threw some chicken and rice and canned soup together. It should be done in 45 minutes or so.” Sam answered.

“Sounds good. I’ll just get cleaned up. I feel like I’ve been bathing in grease all day.” Dean said.

“That’s probably because you have,” Sam teased before picking up his camera again. He had a plate with a knife and spoon in it sitting in the windowsill, taking photographs as fast as he could and from as many angles as he could so that he would be able to see how the shifting light affected the shots. He was standing on a chair with a knee on the counter to catch a ray peeking through the clouds and right into his frame just as dusk approached when Dean came out of the shower. He was dripping water down his bare chest, wearing only low-slung jeans and towel-drying his hair. Sam’s mouth went dry and he swallowed a couple of times and then snapped the shot before he lost the light. It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned on by his brother by any means. He was a healthy teenager after all, and Dean was a really attractive man. He’d long since gotten over being bothered by it, chalking it up to enforced proximity and lack of any other long-term relationships in his life. But right now he was struck again by the resemblance between Eric and Dean and pictured Eric in Dean’s place right now. Oh, no, he couldn’t possibly be developing a crush on his boss. That would be highly awkward and inconvenient.

“Whatcha doing there, Samuella?” asked Dean. “Getting over your fear of heights so you can join the circus and be a trapeze artist?”

“Ha ha, Dean,” Sam returned, climbing down from his perch. “You know I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m _way_ too clumsy to consider a trapeze artist as a valid career choice. Or even a summer job. Besides, circuses have clowns, and you know how I feel about clowns.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t fall and break your head open just now,” Dean teased. “What were you thinking, climbing up there like that?”

“The light was perfect just for a minute,” Sam defended himself. “I had to see what different angles…” The timer on the stove dinged just then, saving Sam from an explanation he knew Dean would never understand. “Hey, let me get that out of the oven and we can eat.”

He pulled the casserole out of the oven and set it on the towel he’d placed in the middle of the already set table, took his place and started dishing up a large portion for himself. Dean also sat down and filled his own plate. “You been holding out on me Sammy,” Dean moaned with a mouthful of food. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s only a thing I found on the back of a soup can,” Sam blushed at the praise. “I just had to stop at the market on the way home and get chicken and some rice. I got my first paycheck today!”

“Oh, congrats!” Dean said with a smile. “I remember my first job, and the first paycheck felt so sweet. But I have to ask … You read soup cans?”

“I read just about anything,” answered Sam. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but soup cans?” Dean said, in his most incredulous, teasing Sammy voice.

“Tell me you haven’t read a cereal box.” Sam challenged.

“Well, yeah,” Dean answered, unphased. “But that’s just to find out what prize is hidden inside.”

Sam just rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “How was work today?”

“Was good. I got to test drive that Sprite I was telling you about,” Dean answered happily. “I heard one of the valves clacking. Faulty lifter. They didn’t trust me to overhaul the engine, but apparently they trust my ear enough to hear if they’ve fixed it properly and if something else might be wrong. Now that’s a sweet ride. Doesn’t hold a candle to Baby, but still a great little car.”

“That’s great!” Sam answered, always pleased to listen to a happy Dean.

“Oh, and your friend Nicole stopped by,” Dean went on. “She’s asked me to have dinner with her on Friday.”

“I thought you agreed you wouldn’t fool around with her?” Sam exclaimed in dismay.

“I’m not,” Dean insisted. “It’s just dinner.”

“And dinner will lead to drinks, and drinks will lead to…” Sam couldn’t believe Dean was doing this to him. “Next thing you know, we’ll be racing out of town just ahead of the cops or something. Don’t underestimate Lucas Roberts.”

“It’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen,” Dean promised. “Trust me. So how was your day?”

“If Lucas even thinks something has happened…” Sam shook his head. “My day was fine. We actually did a shoot with these two little girls, twins. Was really fun working to get the best shots from them. Eric said he hates working with kids, and I see what he means, but I enjoyed it. I still prefer things that don’t move around or look at you expectantly.”

“Like silverware?” Dean teased. “Did Eric say anything else about my … tests the other day?”

“Umm … no, not really,” Sam answered cautiously. No way was he telling Dean about Eric’s mom and the ‘devil’ possession. Dean would never believe Eric’s resemblance to him wasn’t their kind of thing then. “He seems to have chalked it up to family being … complicated.”

“Good,” Dean replied, scooting back from the table and turning toward the living room. “I’m glad it didn’t screw with your gig.”

“Hey, wait!” Sam called, and Dean stopped on his way to the sofa and looked back at Sam, eyebrow raised expectantly. “Aren’t you going to do the dishes?”

“No,” Dean answered flatly. “That’s your job.”

“But I cooked,” Sam objected. “You should do the washing up.”

“I hate doing dishes. I did more than enough while we were growing up,” Dean explained. “That’s why I cook and you do the dishes.”

Sam sighed and cleared away the dirty dishes, washing the tableware by hand and leaving the pan to soak a while before joining Dean on the sofa, watching whatever inane thing Dean had found amusing.

  
  


Sam was a little apprehensive as he walked into the studio the following morning. He’d been hearing Nicole’s voice, shrill and complaining, from outside the studio as he was walking up. Eric’s deep voiced replies were too soft for Sam to tell what he was saying, but it was evident from the tone that he was finding her annoying.

He debated whether to step in and see if she’d stop, or to stay outside rather than cause Eric embarrassment. Thoughts of seeing Eric had given him a sleepless night, and he could feel a flutter low in his abdomen as he loitered in the corridor outside of the studio. As he dithered about interrupting their conversation, he heard the clock strike nine and knew he would have to go in or be late. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward and pushed the door open.

“...And quite frankly, I think I should tell Lucas to fire you, because you’re lazy and unreliable.” Nicole was standing by the desk, tapping her fingers on the layout she’d selected the previous day, and from her heightened color Sam could see that she was angry about something.

“Why don’t you?” Eric stuck his head around the door of the darkroom. “It’ll save me from calling him myself.”

That seemed to shock her. Her eyes widened, and for a moment she paled, then slowly stalked forward towards where Eric was standing as her voice took on a little girlish tone. “Why do you always want to fight with me? I wish we could be friends again. Everything’s been different since that stupid girl arrived in town.”

Sam coughed loudly, just as Nicole was reaching out her hand to run it up over Eric’s chest, and she wheeled around and fixed him with a glare. “Oh,” she said, turning back to the desk to collect her purse as Eric disappeared into the darkroom.

Watching as Nicole stalked out of the studio, her whole body a study in frustration, Sam whistled softly. He was beginning to think he had her number.

The door closed behind her with a crack, but it was several minutes before Eric opened the darkroom door and peered out again. “Has she gone?”

Sam couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping at Eric’s expression. “Yeah, the big bad temptress has departed for now,” he smirked. “Why do you let her speak to you like that? She seems like a really manipulative piece of work to me.”

Pursing his lips, Eric thought for a minute. “We used to be together,” he said, after a while.

“I could’ve guessed that,” nodded Sam. “She knows the buttons to push to get you going, doesn’t she? I’m just a kid, but it seems to me that someone who loves you wouldn’t act like that towards you. She wants you in her stable, but she doesn’t love you. She just wants to collect you.” He suddenly clapped his hand over his mouth, scandalized by the words he’d just blurted out. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Dean says I don’t have a filter on my mouth, and I guess he’s right.”

“It’s okay.” Eric was gazing at Sam, apparently fascinated by his outburst. “You’re a pretty bright kid, aren’t you?”

Sam didn’t speak. He was far too busy trying to get the butterflies that were crashing about in his belly under control.

“It’s okay. Nicole is just frustrated because I don’t want to take up with her again, but she’s married to Lucas now, and I won’t do it.” Eric went over to take his digital camera off the charger. “I won’t get involved with a married woman.”

“She doesn’t love Lucas either,” said Sam, suddenly seeing a way of getting the news about Dean out there without causing a problem for them down the road. “Did you know she’s after my brother? She was hitting on him at the garage last evening, and she wants to buy him dinner.”

A shadow passed over Eric’s features for a moment, and then he straightened up, gave Sam an eye crinkling smile and a nod. “You’d best warn him what he’s in for. She’s a black widow, and she’ll eat him alive...” He broke off for a moment, thinking, then laughed. “Or maybe don’t warn him, and that will be my revenge for the way he impaled me yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about Dean.” Sam snickered. “I know right now which one of them would win in any battle of the sexes.”

“Are you sure? Nicole’s pretty relentless once she sets her mind to something.” Eric seemed a little dubious, but he didn’t know Dean the way Sam did.

“You can bet money on Dean,” said Sam. “I only hope that Lucas doesn’t find out and run us out of town. I’m having too much fun here for that.”

That made Eric laugh. “Well, I won’t tell him for sure, and neither will Nicole, unless she gets something out of it, so maybe he should go for it.”

As Sam began to look through the appointment book, their first client of the day arrived, a new young mother with a baby she wanted to have captured on film, and their day began.

  
  


Dean’s date with Nicole didn’t go as planned, at least not the way that Nicole had planned it, judging by the way she looked when she finally left Dean back at the house that evening.

She’d booked a restaurant out in Beverley, where she was sure Lucas wouldn’t be likely to venture, and insisted on picking Dean up, making a big thing of insisting that he drive. Dean didn’t mind and played along, still pretending to listen for the knocking sound she had mentioned earlier that week. However, it became apparent very quickly that her gaiety was forced, and that there was something upsetting her.

The restaurant was, not to make too fine a point of it, way out of Dean’s class. He declined the lobster with a shudder after one look at them crawling around in the tank, opened his eyes in horror at the prices of everything on the menu, but opted for a steak when Nicole told him that she was paying.

Dean declined the wine that she suggested and drank a beer instead - one of the microbrewery specials that the waiter recommended to him. It was okay, he thought, but he’d rather have had his usual Budweiser.

Conversation was stilted, and it became plain that Nicole wasn’t really trying. Dean didn’t mind. He was shoveling in a rather good steak, and hoping for pie as dessert, so he was pretty unresponsive until his main course was a memory. When he finally lifted his gaze from his plate, he could see that her nose was pink, and her eyes were glassy, and reached to touch her hand.

“Okay. Something’s bothering you, and you’ve been brooding about it all evening. Spit it out. Trouble shared is trouble halved and all that, so tell your uncle Dean all about it.” Even as he spoke he was thanking the hunters’ deity that Sammy wasn’t around to hear him invite a chick flick moment his very own self.

“Uncle Dean?” She focused on him for a moment, smile a little dimmer than it had been. “This is so not how I wanted the evening to go.”

“See, that was real. That was you being honest,” murmured Dean. “Sweetheart, you’re like me, aren’t you? It takes one to know one, and I freely admit that I’m a player, which means I know when to cut my losses, so let’s hear it and turn that frown upside down.”

That brought him a watery but real smile, and she hung her head, “I feel so silly,” she said.

“Guess we all do from time to time. What did you do?” Dean was momentarily distracted by the biggest, fluffiest piece of Key Lime pie he’d ever seen, and so was somewhat disturbed and taken by surprise when she suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her hand again and squeezing it gently. “Nothing is that bad. Tell me all about it and we’ll see what can be done.”

Nicole had lost the studied glamour she usually affected, and looked up at him, nose pink and eyes swollen. “When... when I was a kid, my dad sold me to this guy who made … made movies.” She hiccupped a little and used her napkin to wipe her eyes, smudging her makeup beyond repair. “I ... they made me do these movies. I didn’t have a choice.”

Dean frowned, alert now as he saw where she was going with this. “What kind of movies did you make? How old were you?”

“I was 15,” she said. “And they were really hard core. And now, the man who made them is blackmailing me to get me to make more, or he’ll tell Lucas.”

“It seems to me,” growled Dean, “That your father needs to lose a few teeth at the very least.” He paused for a moment. “And the sonofabitch that makes a living out of exploiting underage kids deserves to lose something a little more valuable to him.” He made a snipping gesture with his fingers. “What a sleazebag!”

A sad little giggle escaped her as she heard his words. “What can I do? Lucas will divorce me. I’ll be out on the street with nothing, and I’ll have to go back to being Misty.”

Dean thought for a moment. “Okay. Write down all the details for me and leave it with me. I’ll think of something; don’t you worry.”

There were more tears, and then Nicole took a small gold pen from her purse and began to jot down particulars on a page torn from the notebook that accompanied it. By the time Dean had finished his pie and she had paid the check, he had a page of details, including the name and address of the man and the whereabouts of his ‘movie studio’.

As they left to return to Salem, she was almost back to her normal attitude, although she still had smudged mascara around her eyes, and her nose was red. Dean thought that it was actually a good look for her, since she had displayed genuine emotion rather than the fake smiles and seductive behavior she’d affected at the start of their evening,

~*~

The weekend had passed by without any major events. The two brothers had heard from John, who had told them that he would be another couple of weeks, but that had been the only thing of note.

On Monday morning, Sam was up early, wandering around the house in his thin cotton briefs as he snapped photographs of anything that took his fancy while he waited for Dean to finish prettifying himself in the bathroom. He made his way into the hall, and worked his way along the old bookshelves to the small, spindle legged table by the coat rack and set his camera down while he arranged things so that Dean’s leather coat was apparently slinging its arm around his denim jacket. Turning to pick up the nice, shiny digital camera Eric had loaned him and immortalize the pose, he succeeded in knocking over everything Dean had carelessly flung there the night before.

He took the photo first, so he wouldn’t forget and then bent to gather up Dean’s keys and wallet and a crumpled piece of paper he thought should probably go in the trash. Glancing at it briefly to make sure that it wasn’t something of value, he paused for a moment and then hastily smoothed out the note and laid it flat so he could snap a couple of photos of it to make sure he had captured all the content.

Once he’d got a good, legible shot, he turned and made his way up the stairs to get dressed, feeling rather like a secret agent or something.

Dean had just emerged from the shower, and was making his way back to his room with a towel wrapped around his waist, so Sam decided to dart into the bathroom and see if he’d left any hot water. When he finally emerged, clean and freshly shaved, Dean had brewed coffee and was heading out the door to work, so he had no time to ask his brother about the contents of that note. Sighing, he poured himself the last of the Lucky Charms and added chocolate milk. He’d catch Dean on the flipside, and figured that after work would be soon enough.

Slurping up the last of his ridiculously sugary breakfast, Sam went to throw on his denim jacket, now fresh from the amorous attentions of Dean’s coat and headed off to the studio to find Eric. He thought Eric ought to know just what was going on.

  
  


Eric threw a greeting over his shoulder as he leafed through a set of prints, leaving Sam to make for one of the computers and extract the card from his camera to plug into the laptop. It didn’t take long for him to download the contents and pretty soon he had printed out the snapshot of the note he’d found.

When Eric finally had his own prints in the order that he wanted them for the new layout, he turned to see what Sam was doing, and when Sam held out the print for him to look at, he didn’t at first realize what it was.

As he actually began to focus and realized at last what he was looking at, Eric’s eyes widened and his usually smiling mouth turned down. “Oh, Sam, this is dreadful. I have to do something, and I have to do it quickly. Nicole must be going through hell right now, waiting for the axe to fall.”

“You’re a really nice guy, Eric Brady, you know that?” Sam smiled at him. “I kinda thought you would say that, so I’ve been thinking up a plan, and this is what I think we should do.”

“We?” Eric frowned. “Why would you be concerned about Nicole? You don’t even like her very much.”

Sam flashed him one of his most brilliant smiles, dimples popping as his teeth flashed white. “Well, to start with, what’s happening to her is blackmail, plain and simple, and I don’t much like blackmail. Then, secondly, friends don’t just walk away from friends if they know there’s something they can do to help.”

Nodding, Eric thought that through. “Well, okay. What’s your cunning plan, mastermind?”

“The way I see it, if the dude doesn’t have the evidence, he can’t blackmail anyone, can he?” Sam grinned wider than ever. “So if this sleazebag’s warehouse were to suddenly catch fire and burn to the ground, it would be a good thing, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but warehouses don’t suddenly catch fire and... Oh!” Eric stared at Sam. “You want me to set the place on fire?”

“Actually, no,” said Sam. “That would be a bad idea in a lot of different ways. First of all, people know you around here, and they know that you were involved with Nicole, so you need to be somewhere else, having a cast iron alibi. Second, your dad’s a cop and I don’t think you really want to be apprehended trying to set a fire. I do think that it would be good if the two of us went there first though, to case the joint as they say. You can pretend to be Dean, and we’ll ask if there are any jobs going, so I can have a quick poke around, but that will be this afternoon in broad daylight. Then tonight, I’ll go back in the early hours after everyone’s gone home and pick the lock, spread a can of accelerant around and toss in a match or two before trotting home to bed.”

“You can pick locks?” Eric looked halfway between horrified and fascinated.

“Dude, you have no idea how useful it can be,” murmured Sam with a faint flush on his cheeks. “My dad taught me because... because... Uh... well, he thought I should be prepared for anything.”

“Wow.” Eric looked admiringly at Sam. “Show me how you pick a lock.”

”Sure.” Sam flushed again. “Lock something up and then let me at it,” he said. “Don’t let me see how you lock it.”

“Okay. Hide your eyes.” As Sam covered his eyes, Eric went to lock the office door. Sam smirked. He’d anticipated that and knew exactly how to release the catch. When Eric called him over he made quick work of it, and Eric made suitably impressed noises. “You’re a man of many talents, Sam Winchester.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brady,” Sam smirked. “But I only use my powers for good, you know. We should make a decision about when we’re going to go out there and reconnoiter the sleazebag’s place.”

Together, they moved over to the appointment book to see when they would have the requisite hour to run their nefarious errand. Eric pointed out the space at 2:30, and the two of them were cackling like loons and high fiving each other when Nicole arrived, rolling her eyes and muttering something about ‘children’ as she handed them both a frosty look. It was not surprising that she didn’t get why the two of them instantly dissolved into giggles.

  
  


The three sticky children had been immortalized on film for interested relatives and their mother had been ushered out of the studio with many thanks, and Eric was attempting to clean the residue of a candy bar off the chair in which the little brats had been sitting when 2:30 rolled around.

Now that the time had come, Eric felt more than a little apprehensive about their proposed excursion, but he could see that Sam was dancing up and down on the balls of his feet as he waited for Eric to set aside his bottle of Windex and his cleaning cloth and get himself in gear.

“Come on, Brady, let’s hit the road,” he called as he stood by the door, waiting.

Eric sighed. “Fine.” He set the cleaning fluid to one side and tossed the cloth at the back of Sam’s head, scoring a bull's-eye as Sam turned to go.

“Hey!” Sam turned back as he plucked the offending cloth from where it had attempted to slip down the back of his collar. “Listen, I don’t mind going on my own if you don’t think a life of crime is for you.”

“You can’t keep me away that easily, Winchester,” said Eric as he was locking up the studio. “Besides, it’s my worry, not yours. I hope I’m man enough to take some responsibility for it, even though I don’t have any of the ninja skills you’ve got.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam punched him in the shoulder as Eric walked past him to go and start his car. “Just call me Michelangelo,” he heard Sam mutter as he followed him out.

  
  


The drive to the office in the commercial district on Boston Street was carried out in silence, but the silence held a charge that kept Sam’s belly fluttering as he studied Eric’s profile. As Eric drew up in the parking lot next to the building, he turned to Sam and gave him a look that seemed to ask for help, and Sam couldn’t stop himself from bringing his hand up to cup Eric’s cheek and stroke. “Don’t worry. Just remember we’re looking to star in a porno. Take my lead, and we’ll get this done.”

Eric didn’t flinch; didn’t reel back, merely sat for a moment, eyes dropping closed for a second before he nodded and bit his lower lip. “Okay, Michelangelo, let’s have at it.”

The bell that sounded as they pushed open the door was the kind that played a tune, and Sam wanted to giggle as it played an almost unrecognizable couple of bars of ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ Eric caught his eye and Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to stop him from bursting out laughing. The man who emerged from the inner recesses of the building to stand behind the messy counter was heavily built and a little soft around the middle, although it was obvious that he had once been handsome and probably still believed himself to be so, given the tight jeans, the silk shirt, the pomaded hair, and the overpowering aftershave that assailed Sam’s nostrils. He rubbed his hands as he eyed the two arrivals and licked his lips, but when he spoke it was merely to say, “How can I help you?”

Eric fixed his wide eyed gaze on Sam in a silent plea, and Sam’s training kicked in. He smiled, conciliating and a little earnest. “Uh … our friend sent us to you, because she said that you sometimes have work, and we’re new here, and we’re looking for work... ” He lowered his eyes. “I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Dean.”

The man had been listening, face expressionless, but he nodded. “Kid, how old are you?”

“I’m nineteen,” said Sam, lying with a perfectly straight face. “Dean’s twenty-one.” Behind him, he heard Eric grunt his agreement in a vocal register rather lower than his usual.

“Which friend was telling you I might have work?” the man seemed to Sam’s jaundiced eye to be relaxing just a little.

“Oh, that was Nicole,” said Eric, and from the sound of his voice, Sam knew he’d surprised himself by speaking. “She said you sometimes offer jobs to the right people.”

There was a sly tone in Eric’s voice, and Sam was filled with admiration for him, knowing just how hard it probably was for him to do this.

“And what makes you think that you are the right people?” The question was accompanied by a long appraisal of Sam’s body, followed by a gesture to turn around, which he did, slouching with one hip cocked in a manner that Sam devoutly hoped looked slutty. Eric followed suit, and took Sam’s breath away with the studied sexuality of his movement. Dean himself couldn’t have done better.

“Don’t you?” asked Sam, slow blinking and leaning back against Eric, who slid an arm around his waist without prompting. “We know we’re hot.”

“I reckon I can fit you in. Come back on Thursday morning at 8 and bring your kit. I’ll get the crew together, and we can give you a screen test.” Smiling, Sam nodded, all the while secretly wondering what might constitute his kit.

“Can we see where we’ll be working?” asked Eric, appearing to be excited at the prospect of performing whatever acts this douche was expecting from him.

Without another word, the man turned and led the way through into the larger space of the warehouse. Row upon row of shelves lined one side. The other had several areas set up for filming with lights and cameras, beds, chairs and in one corner a dungeon which made Sam blink at the chains and whips that lined the walls. “I don’t do S and M,” growled Eric, and the guy laughed.

“This is where I make my movies, and here is the fruit of my labors,” he announced, gesturing to the shelves that were stacked with reels of film and video cassettes. “I was thinking you two would be intimidated by my little playroom here, but you’re not the innocents you look, are you?” He rubbed his hands together again and beckoned them to return to the office. “I’ll test you both on screen on Thursday, so come with a good head of steam if you know what I mean. If you work out I’ll discuss salaries with you then, okay, boys?”

“Okay, Mr...?” Sam raised his eyebrows in polite inquiry.

“Roland,” the man responded. “Albert Roland ... I’m the mastermind behind such porno greats as ‘Robocock’, “Cockzilla’ and ‘Jurassic Pork’.”

“Wow.” Sam couldn’t think of an answer to that, but Roland seemed to think he’d impressed them, and as he ushered them out he was wearing a huge smile.

Once they were safely back in Eric’s car, the two of them gave in to their giggles and for several minutes they couldn’t do anything except hoot with laughter. When they were finally able to settle down at last, Eric started the car and headed back towards the studio, eyes still watering.

“God, Sam, you were fantastic in there. I almost blew a gasket when you started posing like the nastiest little sexpot ever.” Eric snickered again, and Sam beamed.

“You weren’t so shabby yourself, Mr. Eric Roman Brady ll! You were pretty sexy too.” He gurgled with laughter again. “Oh, God, that doorbell.”

Back at the studio, they took care of the final two clients, and cleared up the clutter that always seemed to accumulate during the day’s work. Eric kept on giving Sam fascinated looks, and after a while Sam found his breath shortening and his body tingling with the thought that all he needed to do was just take charge and seize the moment.

“I don’t know how that kid managed to get chewing gum stuck here,” muttered Eric, attacking the underside of the chair with a table knife. “See if I ever photograph them in here again. It’s gonna be at home or nowhere from here on.”

Sam made a noncommittal grunt and stepped forward to stand as close as he could to his companion. “Eric?”

Eric straightened up, eyebrow raised in a way that was almost the same as Dean’s. Almost, thought Sam, but this wasn’t his brother, and it could be okay, because it wasn’t him, wasn’t Dean.

“You ... You were awesome back there.” He swayed towards Eric just a little, and Eric took the hint, slipped his arms around him, pulled him close and pressed him in against his body, making Sam gasp as his heart started to pound a rhythm he’d never felt before - he thought it might be a salsa, but it could just as easily be some weird African thing.

As his mind rambled, Eric was getting with the program, and cool, plush, plump lips were grazing his, pressing into him, wet tongue sneaking between his own lips to find the dark space behind.

He was hard, so hard he was shaking, and Eric was kissing him, rubbing against him. A telltale bulge grazed his to betray that Eric was feeling the same way that Sam was.

Sam didn’t want to miss any more of this. He snaked his arms around Eric, fingers sliding through his hair as they kissed, messy now as Sam contemplated climbing Eric like a monkey up a stick. Eric had backed them against the wall, and all of a sudden it was entirely possible that he was going to lift Sam up. He gave a little surge as Eric cupped his ass cheeks and found himself with his legs wrapped around Eric’s waist, mouths still fastened together as if they had to feed and were starving for kisses. Sam wasn’t sure about Eric, but he was pretty darned hungry.

There was a daybed that they used for the glamor shots, pink brocade and gold scrolls on the woodwork. Eric didn’t let him drop until he reached it and set him down amid the tacky cushions. “I want,” he said, voice even deeper than it had been before when they’d confronted Roland.

“Me, too,” gasped Sam.

“Have you ever...?”

“No. Have you?”

“Not really.” Eric was pulling at Sam’s T-shirt, trying to strip him with fumbling fingers. “Want to though. Want you. You … you’re amazing.”

Sam didn’t waste time with words, he groaned, felt Eric smile against his mouth as his fumbling fingers dealt with belt and fly and kept on kissing, sensation curling around him, tongues stroking, curling together in a slippery dance.

Fingers were at his fly, hand slithering down, first to cup his cock and then to liberate it, surround it, stroke it in an echo of the way their tongues were moving. Eric’s hand teased him, liquid slide along his dick that felt so good that he wanted to push in hard and bury himself in Eric, merge with him and fuse himself against the other man.

There was only one thing stopping this from being absolutely perfect. Eric was not Dean.

He tried to give as good as he was getting, his fingers dancing along the thick vein of Eric’s cock to circle the fat head and spread the juices that were dripping from the slit. Eric was moaning and mumbling softly, endearments and profanities mixed as he moved his own hand faster, stroking, twisting, sending waves of pleasure through Sam that slowly drew his balls in tight and caused a glowing ball of pleasure to sit, white hot, at the base of his spine, growing, expanding, tightening all of Sam’s muscles until he couldn’t, wasn’t, needed…

And then, suddenly he was there, body locked up tight and coming helplessly, balls tightening and contracting as he shot his load over himself, over Eric and over the dainty pink brocade of the day bed he was lying on.

Eric was swift to follow him, panting as he came, his face contorted in a mask that told Sam he’d been doing it exactly right.

They lay together for a few more minutes, and then Sam stirred. “God, I need a shower after that,” he muttered.

“Can do.” Eric grunted as he pulled himself to his feet and towed Sam behind him towards the bathroom the models used for their changes when he was doing fashion shoots. “I’ll make sure you’re clean. Let’s go.”

  
  


The night was chilly. Clouds had moved in, scudding across the remnants of the moon, and a cool wind had sprung up after dark. Sam shivered a little as he carefully wheeled his bike away from the house. He’d put the can of gasoline in his backpack and armed himself with a box of matches. Now he was sneaking away to do what he’d promised Eric.

All was quiet save for the odd clunk that his bike was prone to. (Sam had bought the thing for $10 with his first week’s wages after spotting it at one of the yard sales Salem seemed to have every weekend. Dean had taken it apart and cleaned and oiled it lovingly, and Sam was overjoyed to now have his own transportation, although that clunking sound still remained, the ghost in the machine.)

As he pedaled his way through the empty streets of suburbia, he was hoping that the threatened rain would hold off until after his fire had taken hold and had a chance to burn all the videotapes. If there was enough rain to extinguish a fire and screw up his mission, he’d be really pissed off. There were only faint night sounds to disturb the air. A dog barked momentarily somewhere in the distance, and the faint growl of an engine swelled and then diminished to silence once more as he passed.

The exercise had warmed him to the extent that he was sweating by the time he reached the warehouse. He carefully wheeled his bike around to the rear of the building so that it wouldn’t be visible if someone should pass and then crouched by the door to pick the lock.

It was the work of a minute to get the door open, and he ghosted in, mentally congratulating himself on getting this far without incident. Crouching, he set his backpack down and pulled out the can of gasoline, then flicked on the flashlight he’d stowed in the front pocket and made his way into the main body of the warehouse, heading for the racks of tape.

He was almost there, and concentrating on removing the cap of the gas can when someone seized him from behind, an arm snaked around his neck to tug him backwards into a chokehold that rendered him effectively off balance and unable to fight back. A very angry whisper assaulted his ears.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Sam’s belly turned cold. Whoever the guy was, he had a tight hold on his neck, and he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to break it. Not only that, but he was slowly strangling, and would soon be unable to do anything at all.

“Can’t breathe,” he croaked.

The stranglehold was suddenly released, and Sam was able to draw in a deep lungful of air. He did so, coughing and gasping as he bent forward, hands on his knees to brace his wobbly legs.

Turning to look at the other, Sam found himself face to face with Dean, and a furious Dean at that. “Sammy? What the hell?”

“Dean?” Sam wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Too right it’s Dean, and it’s just as well for you, idiot! What were you…” Dean’s voice tapered off as he caught sight of what Sam was carrying in his hands. “Sammy, were you going to burn this building down?”

Sam nodded, resisting the urge to squirm under Dean’s scrutiny. He felt the heat suffuse his face as he blushed, and prayed that Dean couldn’t tell in the darkness.

Dean gave a low laugh. “I’ll say this for you, little brother, you’ve got balls of steel.” He paused, pursing his lips, and Sam could see the thoughts ticking through his mind. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I guess it will save time in the long run if the place burned to the ground. Come on then, let’s do it.” Gesturing towards the can that was still in Sam’s hands, Dean turned to begin pulling the videotapes from the racks that held them and tossing them into a pile.

Sam shook himself and then got with the program, setting his fuel can down and moving to help his brother. Once the shelves were bare, and they had a formidable stack of the tapes in the center of the room, he removed the cap from the can he’d brought and began to pour the contents over the pile. The familiar scent of gasoline made him wonder if he should add salt, just to keep the evil at bay, and he giggled at the thought.

When they were done, they stood at the office doorway, surveying their handiwork for a moment before Dean struck a match and flung it into the heap. The fire took hold immediately, and some of the plastic tape holders began to explode as they watched. Sam had replaced the can into his backpack, not wanting to leave behind any evidence, especially any that might have his fingerprints, and as the pile went up in flames, the two of them swiftly evacuated the building. Sam retrieved his bike and began to make his way home, arriving back at the house in what seemed like only a couple of minutes. He saw that the Impala was in its usual spot, but the engine was still warm as Sam slid by to put his bike away.

Dean had made coffee when Sam entered the kitchen, and was listening to the emergency radio frequency while sipping on what looked to Sam like black sludge. Pouring himself a cup, he added enough sugar and cream to drown it and took his seat beside Dean. “Anything yet?” he asked.

“Nope. Not yet. It’ll be too late by the time they discover it.” Dean had found the bottle of scotch they kept in their first aid kit and now he found a couple of cups - there were no glasses to be had - and poured each of them a healthy couple of fingers. “Cheers!”

They drank, and Sam had to admit that he could see why people liked the stuff despite the way his throat burned when he swallowed as he felt the warmth travel through him. A crackle to the emergency radio frequency had them both jumping, and finally they heard the call as someone summoned the fire department. They each raised their glasses and toasted the night’s activities, and Sam grinned. “We should probably sing a chorus of ‘Burning Down the House,’ he said, and Dean laughed. He was beginning to relax when Dean turned back to him.

“I have so many questions to ask you right now, but the main one is why? Do you have some weird crush on Nicole or something?”

“God, No!” Sam was appalled at that suggestion. “It’s Eric that…” He closed his mouth with a snap as he realized what he’d said. “I ... I mean that _he_ likes her,” he finished up, blushing beet red.

His brother had paused with his mouth open, staring at him as he spoke, and Sam’s face felt like it was glowing like a beacon. “Sam? What aren’t you telling me?” Sam didn’t answer, merely averted his face and hoped Dean wasn’t really looking at him. He was, of course, and it was evident when the penny finally dropped and Dean finally worked it out for himself. “You and Eric? Wow, Sammy, that’s just…”

“Not Eric, Dean!” Sam shook his head fiercely. “It’s just that he looks…” He took a deep breath. “It was always you, Dean.” He could see that Dean was about to say something and hurried on, determined to get it all out now that he’d actually confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and I thought that Eric might be the same, but he isn’t you, and I know that we’re brothers, and that it’s wrong, but I can’t help the way I feel.” He blinked away the suspicious dampness from his cheeks and rose to his feet. “I know. I’m disgusting, and Dad will probably notice soon enough and shoot me or something and it’ll put me out of my misery. I’ll go to bed now and leave you alone, shall I?”

Dean was still gaping, but he rose to his feet as Sam finished his confession and reached to wrap his arms around Sam, tugging him into the kind of hug Sam had been brushing off since he was 13. “Hush now,” Dean murmured. “You’re my baby brother, and I love you, no matter what, even if you’re weird!”

Relaxing into the hug, Sam closed his eyes and inhaled Dean’s warm scent. He sniffled a little. “What can I do? I thought about running away, but I want to finish school and learn what I can while I can, and you’re always there, and I can’t do what I really want. Is it wrong to want to finish school?”

Dean pressed on his shoulders, settling him gently back in the chair he’d vacated and then poured them each another shot, sharing it out between them until the bottle was empty. “Sammy, you of all people deserve to go to school. You deserve to have everything you want, but you know that you and I aren’t an option.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sam hung his head. “Dad would probably want to exorcise me if he found out.”

“So go fetch that bundle of application forms for the different schools that you brought home at the end of the semester. I think it’s time we started filling them out, don’t you, Pinky?” Dean smirked, launching into one of their favorite routines. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

Sam grinned, “Well, I'd have to say the odds of that are terribly slim, Brain.” He got to his feet, a little woozy from the alcohol but determined not to look drunk.

“That’s true,” nodded Dean. “Really slim.”

“I mean, really, Brain, when have I ever been pondering what you've been pondering?” Sam pulled open the drawer he’d dumped the forms into on the day he’d come home so excited after being given the internship.

“Yeah, to my knowledge, never,” said Dean, and Sam could see that he was happy Sam was joining in their double act.

“Exactly.” Sam dumped a bunch of fat envelopes onto the kitchen table. “So what are the chances that this time I'm pondering what you're pondering?”

“I’d say that would be next to zero, Pinky.” Dean reached for the first envelope and pulled out the contents. “Okay. This one is for Stanford. Where exactly is Stanford?”

“Well, that's exactly what I'm thinking, too!” announced Sam. “Connecticut somewhere? Oh, no. That’s Stamford. Hmmm...”

“Therefore you actually are pondering what I’m pondering. Where’s my book of road maps?” Dean went out of the back door and returned after a moment or two with the atlas that he kept in the trunk of the Impala. “Okay, California here you come, Sammy. Full steam ahead.”

“Dad’s gonna be really mad.” Sam gave Dean a little, weak smile.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll back you up. It’ll be fine. We’ll fill the others out tomorrow.” He yawned. “Now go to bed.”

“G’night, Dean.”

“G’night, John boy!”

  
  


Sam woke the next morning almost dreading going in to the studio for the first time since his internship had started. He’d always been excited to get to work and learn whatever he could in the time he had. And he’d been fascinated by Eric and could hardly wait to see him again, see where this strange friendship of theirs would lead. But now he was almost dreading seeing him. He knew that he couldn’t continue whatever this was with him, and he suspected that it was likely the other boy wouldn’t want them to keep working together either, after what Sam knew he had to tell him. Sam almost wished his Dad had returned in the middle of the night saying they had a hunt on the other side of the country and had to leave immediately. Of course, that would never happen when he actually _wanted_ to leave town with no warning, so Sam, not being one to shirk his responsibilities, got dressed and went in to the studio.

Eric was busy finalizing a layout when Sam came in, but he glanced up and smiled broadly at him before refocusing on his work. Sam ignored his nerves and got right to work himself, checking the appointment book and starting to prep the studio for the first sitting. It was a couple announcing their engagement to Salem high society, so Sam decided the setting from one of Nicole’s ads would work, although of course Eric would have to make the final decision.

Eric soon finished with the layout and put it in his ‘out box’ to be collected by the mail room staff and delivered to whoever it was intended for. He turned to Sam and smiled, nodding approvingly at his choice of backdrop before reaching to grasp Sam’s hands. “So … about yesterday. I’ve never … never felt anything like that before. I don’t know why I’d never thought about guys like that before, but … you...” Eric stumbled through that declaration, and Sam had to stop him before he went any farther.

“About that,” Sam started, fumbling for words. Eric froze, looking at him with the most vulnerable expression he’d ever seen on anyone that wasn’t being eaten by zombies or terrorized by poltergeists. Sam felt horrible, but he knew it would be easier in the end if he did this now. “It was amazing, and wonderful and totally unexpected.”

Eric exhaled in relief, and the smile that lit his face was so bright Sam almost changed his mind. Eric leaned in to brush their lips together, but Sam ducked his head, and continued, “But, it also made me realize something. As fantastic as you are, and you really are,” Sam met Eric’s gaze to make sure he understood how much Sam meant that. “It’s not you that I’m really into. It’s Dean.”

“Dean? Who’s Dean?” Eric asked in confusion. “You don’t mean your brother?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded sorrowfully, then continued in a rush. “My brother. I know it’s messed up, and we’ll never do anything about it. But you see why I can’t … not with you. I talked to him about it last night, and we’ve decided I should go to college. We did the first application last night.”

“Well, umm,” Eric trailed off, obviously thrown, but then continued more enthusiastically. “That’s a good idea! You could go to school around here. And maybe it would help to get away from your brother for a while.”

“Yeah,” Sam responded slowly. “That’s what we were thinking. But you know … it’s never going to work between you and I, right?”

“Why not? It was good; _we_ were good. It felt right. More right than anyone else I’ve ever …” Eric trailed off again.

“Because you remind me too much of Dean,” Sam answered bluntly. “I should get my things. I totally understand why you wouldn’t want me to continue…”

“What?” Eric interrupted. “Why? You don’t have to go just because… You’re a great photographer and a huge help to me. Just because we had a moment and then figured out it wouldn’t work between us, that’s no reason for you to go. You can stay, continue to help me in the studio, and we’ll work on a portfolio you can send to colleges. Please?”

“If you’re sure.” Now Sam was the one feeling vulnerable. He looked up, searching Eric’s face to make sure that the other boy meant what he said, that he wasn’t just saying what he thought Sam would want to hear. And that he understood that Sam couldn’t … ever. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“All right then,” Eric smiled. “Now that that’s settled, let’s get this shoot done, and then over lunch we can go take pictures at this warehouse that burned down last night on the other side of town. Apparently the police have detained the owner, and my dad mentioned something about an under-age pornography ring.”

In the end, it was only another week or so until their dad came back, dragging them off to another hunt. Sam barely had time to say goodbye to Eric before they rushed out of town, racing to get there before the full moon. The first thing Sam packed was the portfolio that he and Eric had nearly finished. Sam didn’t know what he wanted to study in college, but he was sure that the nearly professional quality photography would, at the very least, make his application stand out.

  
  
Epilogue  


Sam had been gone a few weeks, but Eric still missed him like crazy. Not just regret about the relationship that Eric thought could’ve been amazing, but around the studio as well. Nicole had been exceedingly grateful and tried to show her gratitude in the same way she always did. Marriage hadn’t changed her at all. But the few moments Eric had had with Sam had given him a glimpse of how he could really feel about a person, and he’d never felt that for Nicole, or Greta either for that matter.

Nicole was undeterred. She kept trying more and more outrageous stunts to recapture his affections. Inevitably, Lucas caught her at it and fired Eric. Eric’s twin sister, Sami, railed against the unfairness of it all, but she was always one to think the worst of Lucas in any scenario, and secretly Eric was relieved. The situation at Titan had only gotten more and more intolerable after Sam left. Eric had taken the opportunity to update his own portfolio while they were working on Sam’s, so he wasn’t worried. But he really felt that he needed to get out of Salem, away from Nicole, Greta, and yes, even his family. It all felt so stifling.

He packed his things into his car, quit his apartment and paid the next month’s rent in lieu of giving his 30 days notice, then went by the pub to let his family know he was leaving. They all tried to talk him out of it, of course, claiming everyone knew that Nicole was a piece of work, and that none of it was his fault. But he had already made up his mind, and eventually his family had to agree.

On his way out of town the railroad crossing signal malfunctioned, and his car very nearly got hit by a speeding cargo train. He was unhurt, but very shaken, so he pulled over to calm himself down. He looked back at the train, which had blared its horn and engaged its brakes, slowing to avoid Eric’s car. Just as he looked back, he saw someone jump from one of the boxcars and land, rolling to minimize the impact.

Eric jumped out of his car to make sure the daring athlete was okay. As he approached the person, they started to run, and Eric called out, “Hey, it’s okay. I just want to help.”

When the person looked up, Eric couldn’t help but gasp in shock. He suddenly understood Dean Winchester’s need to test him for God knows what. Sam had never explained the ‘family business’, but he’d let enough slip that, together with Eric’s own knowledge of the occult from his mom’s possession years ago, had allowed him to piece some of it together. And even if he hadn’t had some knowledge of what was out there, he was sure this boy would make him wonder. Because, absent a scar or two here and there, he could actually be Sam Winchester. Eric curbed his impulse to splash holy water in the boy’s face and approached him, holding out his hand. “Eric Brady. Are you okay? That looked like a nasty tumble.”

“Dean Forester,” not-Sam answered with a sheepish smile. “And that wasn’t so bad. I’ve gotten better at it.”

“Where you headed?” Eric asked, suddenly wanted to prolong this encounter, get to know this guy who looked so much like Sam a bit better.

“Away,” Dean answered with another shy smile. “I don’t know, really. Somewhere further from where I’ve been, I guess.”

“I get that,” Eric responded. “I’m trying to get away from home myself. Not running away or anything, just time to go.”

“A girl?” Dean asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes and no,” Eric answered, and took a chance, because Dean’s smile looked so much like Sam’s in that moment. “There was a girl, and she got me fired. But it was really because of a boy.” Eric held his breath to see how Dean would react to that.

“Really?” Dean answered, sounding intrigued rather than disgusted. “Were you and he … together?”

“Not really,” Eric answered, then immediately qualified. “Well, maybe for a day or two, but … he realized it wasn’t really me he wanted to be with. It was … complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” Dean answered, sounding like he knew a thing or two about complicated.

“Hey, you want to grab a coffee?” Eric asked suddenly, not even sure himself where the impulse came from. “Just … not here. I’d be bound to run into family or something, and I just want to get out of town. I could give you a lift, though.”

“Where would we go?” Dean asked, sounding interested.

“Colorado,” Eric suggested on impulse. “I have family there.”

“For coffee?” Dean teased with a grin. “And I thought you were avoiding family?”

“My grandparents are fine; I just need to get out of Salem.” Eric suddenly felt that odd little swoop in his abdomen that he hadn’t experienced since Sam left. Not that Dean’s smile was anything like Sam’s. Sam’s had always been more … cynical or something. But Eric really wanted to get to know this Dean better, maybe a lot better. He went on, hoping that the other man would agree to travel with him. “And … obviously we’d have to stop before then.”

“Obviously,” Dean answered with another smile that set Eric senses tingling. He set off towards Eric’s car. “Coffee sounds good.”

“We’ll just head west then, find some coffee along the way?” Eric’s heart felt lighter than it ever had, walking away from his life, from all the expectations his life and his family had saddled him with. Who knew what lay in store for him down the road? He was dying to find out. “See how it goes from there?”

“Works for me,” Dean tossed him another grin and walked around to the passenger’s side of Eric’s car, tossing his backpack into the back seat and climbing in the front. Eric followed and watched as he folded his long legs into the small car. The jolt of lust he felt shocked him as he realized that Dean would likely be taller than Sam, taller than him. Sam had been about the same height as him, and he’d never remarked on that, but Dean … Dean was probably a couple of years older than Sam, less awkward limbs and more filled out. And … taller.

“You could also probably use a shower,” Eric continued, then stammered as he was suddenly assailed with thoughts of a wet Dean soaping up to wash off the grime from the train. He’d never even thought of being with another man until he met Sam, but that experience had obviously flipped a switch in his brain. “I … I didn’t mean … umm …”

“No, man,” Dean laughed. “I get it. I didn’t think you had any nefarious intentions. And I do need a shower. I must be pretty rank.”

“No, I didn’t mean that either.” Eric got in the car and started it automatically, directing it back onto the road out of town. He couldn’t say anything right, apparently. “It’s just if I were on a train for … however long … I’d want a shower.”

“You’ve probably never hopped a freight train in your life,” Dean observed. “But yeah, it’s pretty dirty on those things. You never know what was in them before you got there. The smell alone could murder your taste buds, so, yeah, I could definitely use a shower. But if you’re not ashamed to be seen with me, I’d like that coffee first.”

“Of course, man,” Eric answered. He tried not to bristle at Dean’s assumptions about his life, but he had to admit the other man was right. They weren’t exactly rich, at least by von Amberg standards, but he’d never wanted for anything in his life, and freight trains had never before now featured in even his wildest dreams. He chose a nearby town that had a decent coffee shop, and where he wasn’t likely to run into anyone he knew and planned his route out of town, and onto the next phase of his life. “Coffee it is.”

~fin~


End file.
